Growing up in Salisbury, as a teenager in the mid-to-late 90s, I knew the name Ronnie Gallagher. It wasn’t until a little more than a decade later that I met the man.

From the time I was able to talk, I never stopped, mostly about sports.

I owe that distinctive character trait to my father and grandfather, who were largely the same way.

Kenneth Honeycutt, my grandfather, was a talented athlete in football, basketball and baseball. Thomas Honeycutt, my father, was a catcher at Wingate University and on East Rowan’s 1973 state championship baseball team.

I was an average athlete myself, nothing spectacular like them, but I feel that what I am spectacular in is my passion and knowledge of sports.

After I graduated high school from East Rowan in 2001, I had goofed off my senior year and honestly had no clue what I wanted to do.

So I just did what dad always did and went to work.

From the time I graduated until I was 26, a span of eight years, I worked countless jobs, all the while dreaming of a career in sports.

I was going to school at Rowan-Cabarrus Community College, off and on, during those years.

I finally achieved my Associates' degree. It was nice, but not good enough.

My life-changing moment came in 2009. I was 26-years old and working at Best Buy in Kannapolis.

I was wasting my gift and I knew it.

As I sat on a stack of boxes on a pallet in the warehouse late one night, it hit me and I unleashed a flood of tears.

The next day, I applied to three universities: Catawba College, UNC-Wilmington and what I deemed a longshot and my dream school, the University of Tennessee.

Back to the subject of this column and what it truly means to me – Ronnie.

I had just finished my second semester of my sophomore year at Tennessee in the spring of 2010.

I was majoring in journalism with a focus on sports and for us to graduate, the university required us to do a practicum, which was a glorified word for internship.

I knew exactly where I wanted to do it – at the Salisbury Post.

I put a call and email in to Ronnie one day and my response was prompt.

“Jordan, thanks for your interest and I would love to talk to you and meet you one day this week if you could. Let’s meet at Ryan’s Steakhouse for lunch on me and don’t dress up.”

I told my mom the good news. My mother, being the classic southern woman she is, said “you better wear your best.”

I agreed against what Ronnie had said because you have to listen to mom, right?

I showed up and saw Ronnie sitting in a booth by the window.

I had imagined he would be in a dress shirt and tie himself, but I couldn’t have been more wrong.

He sat there in a Nike basketball shirt and a pair of athletic shorts.

As I sat down, he looked at me, extended his hand and said “I told you not to dress up.”

“I said I know sir, but my mother told me to.”

He cracked a laugh and we began to talk and he showed me an edition of the Post and I told him how familiar I was with the paper.

My father was a carrier for the Post from the time I was born until I was about 10 years old. I used to ride with him on his routes and help him throw the papers.

After about 45 minutes, or an hour, Ronnie offered me an internship that I immediately accepted.

He didn’t know what to expect and neither did I. From day one, I felt as if I was a full-time member of the Post’s sports staff.

I wasn’t paid a dime that summer, but as my writing improved under tutelage of Ronnie, Mike London, who I call my mentor, Bret Strelow and Ryan Bisesi, Gallagher began to like me and saw a lot of promise in me as a writer.

The following summer, he said he wanted me to be a part-time sports writer for the Post and he would pay me for each story.

I had done it, I felt like. I had earned respect from people that I had always looked up to and respected.

I drove from Salisbury to Statesville, Thomasville, High Point, Concord, Weddington and everywhere in between covering games for Ronnie.

When I got my first full-time job here in New Bern, the first congratulatory call I got was from Ronnie.

“You are going to do great,” he told me. “I am proud of you.”

That goes a long way for a rookie.

I had dreams of working with Ronnie again one day perhaps. Friday, when he passed away suddenly and unexpectedly, that became impossible.

Everything I learned from Ronnie will always stay with me for the rest of my career. I am grateful and honored to have first learned my craft at the Post.

I thank him for everything he taught me and I owe my career as a professional sports journalist largely in part to him. Goodbye pal.

Jordan Honeycutt can be reached at 252-635-5670 or at Jordan.Honeycutt@newbernsj.com. Follow Jordan on Twitter @JHONEYnbsj29